


Out of my Head

by WebbedUpKatanas



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WebbedUpKatanas/pseuds/WebbedUpKatanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade figures out that things don't always go the way you imagine them. Sometimes they're better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of my Head

In his head, when Wade has sex with Peter (which happened a lot more often than he was ever ever willing to admit, lewd allusions from the boxes be damned), he often imagined their first time as a flurry of lust and motion and heat. He envisions himself flirting with, cajoling, and groping Peter until the younger boy has no option but to give in to the lust that he’s secretly been harbouring for him.

Because the kid’s showed so many signs of desire. All the time. He swears.

Ok, so maybe the groping serves the purpose of inciting lust, lighting the spark that will send the slightly flirtatious air of their Bromance up in flames. Whatever. This is a fantasy, so Peter wants it just as much as he does, and that’s that.

Anyways, there’d be biting, and sucking and fucking like animals, too desperate for each other to go slow.

And Peter wouldn’t barf, because he’d keep his suit mostly on. It is a fantasy though, so the mask will come off and not kill Peter’s boner. And so would all of Pete’s clothes, so he’s naked and exposed as Wade fucks him in full spandex.

These thoughts are usually accompanied by a quick trip to the nearest secluded area and a bit of time for a cleanup on aisle four, if you know what I mean.

But that’s how he imagines it, rough and hot and rushed. 

So, of course, what actually happens is nowhere near what he envisions.

Instead it’s in Peter’s room after a lazy day spent eating various junkfoods, playing video games and a marathon of some of the worst movies he’s ever had the pleasure of ridiculing.

They’re lying on the bed in the half-light of the flickering screen, both dressed in civilian clothes, and Wade without his mask because he’s been feeling pretty comfortable around Peter lately, and the kid has a way of almost making him forget that he has a face that looks like it’s been through a meat grinder.

Halfway through a well thought out, and quite frankly genius, point about the main character’s girlfriends chest, and the essential nature of tiny white bikinis, he realizes Peter is looking at him.

No scratch that, staring at him.

He falters, not sure if he should just ignore it and pretend he doesn’t know Peter is cataloguing the disgusting details of his face, or yank his mask back on and just run the fuck away.

But Peter saves him from deciding when he pipes up “I like it when you don’t wear your mask.”

Wade blinks. “Whaa?” he says intelligently, because either he’s hearing things again or Peter’s having some sort of break with reality. Welcome to the club kid, we have t-shirts.

“That thing you put on your face, the one made of spandex. Red and black? I like it when you take it off,” Peter says slowly like he’s talking to a particularly dense child. “Just, like, when we’re hanging out and stuff,” Peter adds, propping himself up on his elbows and looking concerned. Probably because Wade’s just sitting there with his mouth hanging open, looking vaguely ill.

“Very funny Parker,” he says, turning his face away. He tries to suppress the anger and betrayal burning in his belly, because face jokes? Those will never be cool, and Peter should realize by now that Wade’s the only one who can get away with insulting his own face. He thought Peter had figured out that they stung more than he let on, but apparently he was wrong.

“Hey,” Peter says, and he’s scrambling to get up and crawl closer to him, “I wouldn’t joke about that. I’m being serious.” His hand is on Wade’s shoulder, fingers brushing the scarred flesh on his arm adding credence to the fact that he actually isn’t joking.

Wade squints at him. “Wow, Jesus. You’re actually serious aren’t you?” he’s so stunned by this turn of events that he’s having trouble processing that it’s actually happening.

“That’s pretty fucked up dude.” He turns and pokes Peter in the chest. “You’re one sick kid if you’re into this freakshow. You got some weird obsession with disgusting looking shit? Like, does seeing mutilation turn you on or something?” Wade isn’t sure if he’s joking or serious or some mixture of the two, but Peter is looking at him like he can see all his scars, not just the ones on the outside, and it’s sort of scaring him.

“No Wade,” he says softly, but there’s a tinge of anger that belies it, so Wade knows he’s struck some sort of nerve. “Sure you aren’t a Disney princess, but the scars actually make you…I don’t know… unique I guess? And I don’t see just a mess of scars when I look at you, you should know that by now.”

Wade stares at him like he mistrusts him, like he’s afraid Peter will burst out laughing and tell him that he’s just kidding, Deadpool really is one ugly asshole. So he’s even more shocked when Peter’s eyes take on a hard glint, and he leans forward to press their lips together, one hand brushing over his scarred cheek.

Wade pulls back quickly. “Was that…did you just try to initiate a pity makeout?” he says, possibly a little breathless from surprise, not anything girly… having to do with sudden urges to swoon…because that would be so lame.

“Wade oh my God will you just shut up? I’m…I’m trying to…and you are just…” Peter is blushing. Blushing. Two spots of red glowing on his cheeks, and isn’t that the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

“I like you,” Peter finally chokes out.

“Like or like-like?” Wade can’t help but joke, his heart hammering in his chest.

Peter doesn’t answer, just leans in to capture his lips again, his arms wrapping around Wade’s neck as his tongue licks at his lips, seeking entrance.

Wade’s pretty sure this has to be a hallucination. There’s no way Spider-man, Peter Parker, gorgeous nerdy perfect hero of New York, has just told him he likes his face. No way that he’s currently doing something downright dirty with his tongue, and using just the faintest scrape of teeth, and holy hell where is that hand going?

Peter moves to straddle him, and he has a momentary inner panic because the new position means Pete is a lot more likely to find out first hand just how fucking hard he is after only a bit of making out. But then he settles against his legs and leans forward to claim his lips again, and every thought just sort of short circuits in the wake of the slow slide of Peter’s tongue against his own. Wade’s hands tangle in his hair, and he’s delighted when Peter makes a small sound as he tugs lightly.

He’s not sure how long the kiss lasts, he’s sort of lost in the hazy pleasure of it all, and he can’t remember the last time he kissed someone for this long, but he really really likes it. But then Peter’s hand is up high on his thigh, and sliding even further upward until it brushes against the prominent bump of his erection.

Wade desperately tries to keep from making a sound, when all he wants to do is moan and rub himself up against Peter’s hand, but it seems Peter has no such qualms because he’s moaning himself, lightly stroking him with his fingertips.

“You’re so hard,” Peter whispers. “For me,” he sounds awed, and the tone takes Wade by surprise. He had been sure the kiss was about to die a quick death as Peter’s virginal good-boy sensibilities kicked in and he’d be sent off to have a cold shower.

Instead Peter leans forward a bit more, grinding his own not-small erection into Wade’s leg.

Now he can’t help but moan, and by the look on Peter’s face he likes what he hears. Wade licks at his neck, gauging his reactions to different amounts of pressure and committing to memory each spot that makes him gasp and shiver.

“We should…have done this….a long time ago,” he says between licks, his mouth never fully leaving the soft expanse of skin. Peter’s hands are trailing down his back, his fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Ya, well, not my fault you’re so totally blind,” he says, before letting out a contented hum and saying “how about we get this thing off huh?”

Wade leans back and strips off his shirt. He looks at Peter, noting how dark his eyes have gone and smirks a little. “Like what you see?” he asks, and Peter doesn’t hesitate to nod, which is pretty damn unbelievable because no one looks at him like that, and no one ever pretends to find him attractive. Even the times he manages to get laid it’s always eyes firmly shut and avoid touching too much skin, because it’s just so…gross . But he can’t argue with it when Peter is licking his lips and looking at him like he’s some decadent desert he can’t wait to sink his teeth into.

“Take off the pants too,” Peter orders, and a burst of arousal flares through him at both the request and the demanding tone.

“Not really wearing anything under here Petey,” he says with a suggestive eyebrow waggle. He expects Peter to sputter, to tell him to leave them on, but he just gives him a lazy smile that looks downright wicked on his sweetly innocent face and says, “Even better.”

Well fuck.

His hands fly to his zipper, and he’s yanking his pants down as fast and far as he can before it becomes apparent that Pete will have to move if he wants them all the way off. Looking up, he sees the hungry look in his eyes, and screw taking them all the way off, he’s pulling Peter back in for a kiss right fucking now, pants be damned.

Peter laughs into the kiss, a breathy huff of amusement punctuated by a hand grasping at his dick. Wade moans and pulls back to gasp for breath as the kid leans back and lets his eyes slide down to the hand he has stroking his cock.

“Wade,” he breaths, looking overwhelmed and at a loss for words. “Peter,” he answers, his own hands getting down to business, as he realizes he’s just been soaking up the pleasure, with his hands sitting uselessly on Peter’s hips. He hesitantly pulls Peter’s sweatpants down, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers as well.

Suddenly he’s staring, enraptured, at Peter’s cock straining up against him, and he can hardly believe that Peter is this hard for him. Countless teasing boner jokes aside, he had never really believed that Peter could ever get hard thinking about him, let alone touching his scarred skin and kissing his chapped lips.

But Peter is moaning, a drawn out low sound, as he touches him, stroking lightly a few times before tightening his grip to match the pressure and pace of Peter’s hand on him.

Deft fingers move to map the rough landscape of his skin. The hand that isn’t on his cock is stroking from his back over the curve of his shoulder, to skim down the trenches of flesh across his chest and over a nipple, and pleasure spikes through Wade like a jolt of electricity.

He can’t help but gasp as Peter smirks and does it again before bending down awkwardly to lick at the hard nub. He swirls his tongue a few times before nipping at him with his teeth, making Wade shiver.

Letting the rhythm of his hand slow, Wade leans back so Peter will look up at him. “What exactly is the plan here?” he asks, hips bucking up when Peter speeds up in retaliation to his barely moving hand.

“Well, I’m kind of hoping you’re gonna fuck me?” Peter says, his face a dark shade of red, which officially takes first place on Wade’s Really Goddamn Cute and Holy Fucking Hot lists respectively.

“Uh, ya, I guess I could handle that,” he replies, dazed, removing his hand from Peter all together, and placing it over Peter’s hand on his dick to slow the rhythm down. “But if you don’t stop that I’m gonna lose it, and then I’ll have to tell you this never happens, and you’ll tell all your girlfriends that Deadpool’s a quick-shot, and not in a good way…”

“Oh my God shut up. I’ll get the lube.” Peter’s cheeks are still tinted pink. Too precious.

Peter kicks his pants off, removing his shirt as well and throwing it on the floor in a heap, so Wade takes a moment to divest himself of his pants as well.

The view he gets as Peter scrambles over to his bedside table and bends to rustle through its contents is one he’s sure he won’t be forgetting any time soon. Damn Parker has a nice ass.

Peter returns with the lube, but he’s gotten a bit shy in those few moments, awkwardly wavering with the bottle in his hand before seeming to come to a decision. Slowly, biting his lip, he pours some of it into his hand and reaches over to stroke Wade again, slicking the lube up and down his length generously.

Wade is fighting the urge to just rub himself up against that hand until the pleasure kills him, but he really really wants to get inside Peter, so he doesn’t complain when the hand draws away again. At least not much. And that wasn’t a whine thank you, it was just a sound. Shut up.

“Should I, or did you want to…” Peter’s blush extends down his chest, and why is he so goddamn cute. He’s this weird balance of adorable innocence and wanton lust, which should totally be a contradiction, but somehow works for Peter.

“Want to what?” Wade asks coyly. He never claimed to be innocent himself, and he relishes the way he’s making Peter squirm.

“You know,” he replies, and makes a gesture with his fingers that’s hard to misconstrue.

“I don’t think I do Petey. I think I need you to tell me what you want.”

“To…to. Wade, seriously?” Peter looks mortified, but he whispers “Do you want to…stretch me, or should I…?”

Wade smirks as Peter’s words send a jolt of pleasure spiking through him. “Oh I think I’ll take over from here,” he says, and he knows from the darkness of Peter’s eyes that he’s enjoying the teasing even as he cringes with embarrassment.

He plucks the lube from Peter’s hands and slicks up his fingers. He’s a little lightheaded, because he’s about to have his fingers inside Spider-man for god’s sake, and this had better not be some sort of very realistic dream or something because heads will roll.

“Have you done this before?” he asks conversationally, not sure if he wants Peter to have had some experience so this goes smoother or to be the one to claim his first time with a guy. “Uh, no…but I’ve um…used fingers before and I liked it so…” he trails off, and Wade realizes he was definitely rooting for the first time option. So hard.

Peter looks halfway between terrified and impatient, lying down on the bed, and shifting to get comfortable. “You’re going to have to open your legs,” Wade says, amused. His smile turns predatory as Peter obliges without hesitation, putting a pillow under his back to lift himself up, though his blush has become a permanent fixture and his hands are gripping the sheets tightly.

He looks so adorable that Wade can’t help but slide forward to kiss him, sloppy and lazy with too much tongue and saliva, their teeth clicking together as they both press forward to get closer together.

One slick finger trails down the cleft of his ass, rubbing circles against his hole, and Wade laughs into Peter’s mouth as he moans and presses down into the contact.

“You’re so eager aren’t you?” he meant for that to sound teasing and light, but it comes out sounding more awed and reverent. Peter’s eyes lock on to his, and the stare is full of heat and depth, and he can’t help but push his finger up into him as Peter breathes a soft “Yes.”

He thrusts his finger in and out, fucking into him slowly and leaning back to watch him squirm in pleasure. Peter reaches out and grasps the hand that’s planted on the bed holding Wade up over him, his fingers curling around his wrist with Peter’s palm pressed against the back of his hand. Wade curls the finger within him on an upward thrust and delights in the strangled yell that tumbles from his mouth.

“That good? Can I add the next one?” he doesn’t sound nearly as suave and sexy as he would like to because seeing Peter like this is driving him crazy, and he’s breathless with need.

“Yes please,” Peter nods enthusiastically, and they both huff a laugh as he slides the second finger in. He tries to go slow, but Peter is shoving himself down against the fingers, and he’s getting nervous that he won’t be able to last much longer under such a gorgeous onslaught.

He slides the third finger in, spreading them to stretch him properly while Peter gasps and clings to his shoulders hard enough to bruise. His breathing is sharp, and Wade has to quell the urge to kiss him again, because it sounds like he’s not getting enough air as it is.

Wade’s eyes are dark and wild, and he feels like he might pass out because this is all just too much.

“Oh God. I could do this all day, seriously…so good…but I need….ah, yes…I need you to…uh, shit, please,” Peter stammers, and Wade removes his fingers slowly, relishing in the tightness and feeling the slightest edge of regret that he has to stop. But then he remembers what’s about to replace them and shivers in anticipation.

He bends one of Peter’s legs back, suddenly remembering with delight that Peter’s got no problem with flexibility. He pushes it back a bit further, just to test, then a bit further again when Peter doesn’t complain. Just a bit more…

“Dude, what are you doing?” he seems more amused than anything, so Wade thinks he doesn’t really mind.

“Shit Peter, the things we could do. Do you think you can tie yourself into a pretzel? I think I did once, but I’m not sure my legs were attached all the way at the time so…” he’s cut off as Peter shoves his hands away and lowers his leg. Disappointing. He had liked that position. But then the leg comes up to wrap around him and he’s suddenly totally fine with it. Damn Peter’s smart.

“Less talking, more fucking,” Peter says, and he’s managed to sound pretty damn confident and demanding, which is surprising because this is the kid who says ‘mother hugger’, and Wade thinks that just maybe he’s been a bad influence. But in the very best way.

He reaches down to line himself up, trying to keep his breathing steady as he slowly pushes in. He’s only done this a few times before, and mostly when at least one party was smashed out of their mind, so he’s a bit nervous. Peter hisses, so he stills, fighting the urge to just slam all the way in to feel more of the sublime tightness surrounding him. “You okay?” he asks instead, his thumbs massaging soothing circles over his hip bones. “Ya, just hurts a bit, but it feels good too. You can keep going,” Peter breathes.

Pushing in more he bites back a groan feeling himself slide deeper and deeper, until he’s in as far as he can go. Peter is breathing little sighs and his eyes are frantic as he looks up at him. He looks perfectly debauched, and when he clenches, so hot and tight and perfect, around him Wade takes the hint, pulling out slightly and thrusting sharply back in.

“Harder,” Peter demands through a moan, and Wade’s never been one for taking orders, but no one’s ever tried doing it in that tone or they might have gotten further.

He thrusts back in with more force, and Peter bucks back into it which might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He pulls out again, too far, but it gives him a chance to line himself back up and thrust in one smooth movement all the way back in, which makes Peter yell out in pleasure, his hands scrabbling to hook around Wade’s neck.

“Shit. You’re so good. So tight and, fuck,” Wade mumbles, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin where Peter’s neck meets his jaw.

“More, I need more, Wade,” Peter’s voice was wrecked, and some of the sounds he was making were downright filthy, as he thrusts in harder, his hips circling fast and rough. He isn’t sure but he thinks he might be babbling, so lost in the pleasure and the wonder of this actually finally happening that he can’t tell what’s in his head and what was said out loud.

After a minute Peter’s body stops arching into his thrusts and he pushes at his chest to stop him. Wade pulls back, and he isn’t terrified that Peter has come to his senses… he always felt like there’s a vice squeezing his heart, so screw you.

“What? Whats wrong?” he asks, his voice unsteady as he looks down into Peter’s face. “Nothing, just…” Peter pushes him backwards until he’s sprawled out on his back, Wade’s cock exposed to the cold air as it slides out of him.

“I wanna try riding you,” he says, and any fears that Wade had harboured go up in smoke as a wave of arousal slams through him.

Watching Peter rise up to position himself over his erection was both weird and wonderful. This was something Wade thought he would only see in his vivid fantasies, starring the Amazing Spider-man, and co-starring his right hand. He has to steady himself and think vaguely unsexy thoughts (Wolverine in a dress, Bob and Weasel making out… although that’s kinda… never mind. Suppress that thought for the rest of forever, thanks. How about the destruction of all of the world’s Mexican food? Or seriously Logan in a dress. Scary.) because he is so damn close, but he wants this to be good for Peter.

Then Peter lowers himself down and all cognitive thought goes out the window. “Hgk,” he manages to choke out, which is pretty impressive considering Peter Parker was… holy fuck… moving, slamming down hard enough that Wade thinks his bones might actually fracture. Two more thrusts is all it takes, and Wade is coming so hard he has to bite his hand hard to muffle his scream.

“Holy… Wade, that was so hot,” Peter gasps, trying to still his hips, though they seem to be bucking of their own accord.

“Mmm. Come here,” Wade manages, feeling melty and content as he pulls him in for a kiss with one hand while grabbing his erection with the other. His cock slips out of Peter as their tongues tangle furiously, and he can tell Peter’s close by the way his body is trembling against his own.

Their mouths part, and they pant against each others lips, Peter making unbelievably sexy, needy noises. All it takes is a few fast, hard tugs, and a whispered “Come for me, Peter,” and he’s shaking apart, moaning Wade’s name.

Peter buries his face in his shoulder, and Wade rubs circles into his back as they pant together on the bed. “Wow,” he states, and Peter chuckles against his skin. “Wow,” he repeats, because he can hardly believe that he’s just had sex with Peter. Sex. With Peter.

Peter pokes him, rising up enough to look into his eyes. “Did I just break you?” he asks, and the smile on his face is so smug that Wade almost shoves him off of him. Almost. Instead he grabs him and pulls him back down to kiss him, and even though he’s just had mind blowing sex with him, he can’t help but feel a twinge of surprise and delight when Peter kisses him back, soft and slow.

They break apart, and the new smile painting Peter’s face is much less smug, warmer and more delighted, so Wade allows his own, very, very, smug smile show. They both laugh, and Peter goes to roll off of him, but Wade doesn’t let him go too far, pulling him close to his side. Because he’s warm. It isn’t cuddling, even with Peter’s arm draping across him to pull him tightly to himself. They are just two manly men… holding each other gently.

Wade ruffles Peter’s hair, and the kid tries to shake him off, making an annoyed sound as though he’s irritated that his already sex-mussed hair is being messed up. “Quit it. I thought you’d be less annoying after sex,” Peter gripes, and Wade laughs before licking at his cheek, making Peter squeal. “Ew. Oh my god, you’re disgusting. Why are you such a creep?” Wade can hear an undercurrent of amusement, so he just snarks “Takes one to know one,” and lets Peter settle back down against him.

It’s only later, after Peter’s fallen asleep and he’s mumbling quietly to himself to keep from dying of boredom (he could move, but Peter’s so warm and he keeps nuzzling him in his sleep. How fucking cute is that!) that Wade realizes they might have to have a talk, with emotions and stuff, about what all this means.

He hesitates before grabbing his mask off of the bedside table where he had left it earlier in the day, pulling it firmly back on. Looking down at the sleeping hero beside him he has to keep himself from letting the tiny edge of hope blossom too much. Still, he can’t keep the stupid damn smile off his face, which sort of pisses him off.

Instead of letting his mind wander to traitorous, dangerous, stupid places, he closes his eyes and tries to drift off. When that fails, he feels the stupid smile shift to something more lewd, and begins imagining the second time he and Peter will have sex instead. In detail.

Who knows, maybe this time his imagination will even get something right.


End file.
